


what should have been.

by beatrixfranklin



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28398024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beatrixfranklin/pseuds/beatrixfranklin
Summary: a oneshot compilation of rewritten scenes, scenes we should have seen portrayed or little details that would have made things happen differently.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> on the night of barbara's wedding, trixie finds a certain somebody emptying her side of the closet into a suitcase. 
> 
> i.e. the trix/pats conversation we deserved
> 
> dedicated to b mwah

She'd gone back for her lighter. 

Left it in the room in an absentminded flurry of white fur and red lipstick that very morning. 

Failing to find someone to borrow one from, she'd headed back, where she remembered it lay on her nightstand.

This chain of events had led her back into Nonnatus, head buzzing, heart full, ears ringing from laughter and music.

The room is not deserted.

"Patsy?"

At once, her face lights up as the redhead turns to face her. Patsy's expression is not a perfect match- sure, she's happy to see Trixie before she heads off, but the arrival of the blonde muddies the waters. 

Trixie throws herself into Patsy's arms, holding tightly onto the taller woman, deep red chiffon a contrast to dull green and slacks. Patsy allows herself to return the embrace, feeling Trixie cling onto her, bracing herself for what is next. 

Trixie pulls back, still not letting go of Patsy's hands as she looks over her face in dull lamplight, refusing to look away for fear of mirage.

"Heavens, what a greeting!" Patsy says flippantly, refusing to fight the smile creeping onto her face, despite the impending anxiety bubbling away in the pit of her stomach.

"Pats, don't be ridiculous," says Trixie, still clinging onto Patsy's hands as though the redhead is in need of an anchor, "I've missed you terribly," 

They both let a moment pass, before Trixie's eyes move around in the silence, an instantaneous ill-feeling washing over her as she spies the empty side of the closet. 

"What's going on?" Her tone is soft and sweet, praying to anyone who will listen that there has been a misunderstanding. 

Patsy flinches at the question, her heart suddenly thumping hard against her ribs. She feels cool air as Trixie lets go of her hands.

"Patsy. Now." 

Patsy's glance hits the floor. 

"I have to go, Trixie," the reply is quiet, almost ashamed, as it cuts through the cool air. 

"No, Patsy, you don't," 

"I do. You know I wouldn't leave if it weren't necessary,"

"So you were planning on simply whisking Delia away as our friend celebrates the happiest day of her life?" Trixie folds her arms, guarding the slowly building tears behind cold, hard anger.

"I would have written you all," Patsy lifts her gaze, hardly bearing to meet Trixie's eyes. Because she knows Trixie is crying, and that hurts more than any words the blonde could say or even think. 

"You say that, Patsy," says Trixie, biting back tears as best she can, "Jenny said it. Chummy said it. Now you've said it," 

"What on earth do you mean, Trixie?" is Patsy's reply, fuelled by a complex mix of sorrow and anger.

"I mean that everybody leaves. They all pack up and leave silly old Trixie behind, and perhaps I hoped you would be different," 

Trixie finally cracks, anger subsiding as the tears fall. Patsy takes her in her arms again, surprised at the lack of protest.

"Trixie," she begins, fighting tears of her own, though she's been adamant that Patience Mount certainly doesn't cry, "you and Babs are the most incredible friends I've ever had. You and Delia, of course," 

Trixie wipes her eyes, still pressed to Patsy's chest.

"Delia isn't a friend though, is she?" 

Patsy swallows the lump in her throat.

"What do you-"

"She isn't a friend. She's much more than that, isn't she?" Trixie pulls away from the hug, wiping the black salt from under her eyes. 

"How do you-" 

"I've known for a long time, Patsy. You thought you had that card game ruse settled, didn't you?" 

Patsy smirks a little, watching Trixie crack a signature smile.

"You're not angry?" The question is gentle, nervous. 

Trixie shakes her head. 

"Just please don't forget to write. Even if it's a simple time of day. I want to know we're still friends," Trixie is still smiling softly.

"Of course, Trixie. There's no way I could forget _you_ in a hurry, or Babs," 

Trixie nods, squeezing Patsy's hand in her own.

"So long as you have a spare bedroom and a working telephone, you have my love, Patsy. You  _ and  _ Delia," 

Patsy hastily wipes a stray tear, though she's certain Trixie has seen it.

"Of course. What is the world without the ability to put the world to rights with my best friend?" 

"Positively ghastly," says Trixie with a little laugh, "almost as ghastly as the state of this mascara. I'd better fix it before I head back down," 

She turns on her heel, before pausing, with a last glance to Patsy.

"I suppose you better," laughs Patsy.

"As long as you're aware you're entirely to blame," sighs Trixie, blotting at her cheeks.

The silence holds so much, along with the knowledge that the casual jabs won't feel the same across a phone line. Though Trixie feels safe, for the first time since Cynthia, that she won't be left in the dark. 

Patsy won't break the thread. 


	2. breaking the bad news (season 7)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> patsy receives a phone call from poplar to edinburgh. what it entails causes everything to come crashing down completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dedicated to my best bud frank x

"Mount-Busby residence, who's speaking please?" 

" _ Hiya chick, it's Val,"  _

Patsy adjusts the receiver in her hand.

"Valerie! What a lovely surprise! I thought you were Trixie, but it's wonderful to speak to you as well," 

Valerie does not match her tone.

" _ I wish it was, Patsy,"  _ Patsy feels her heart sink as Val speaks, " _ you see- it's Barbara,"  _

"Oh?" Patsy bites at the edge of her thumb, an absentminded habit she really ought to pack in, "Whatever's the matter?"

" _ She fell ill in Birmingham, Patsy,"  _

Patsy swallows the lump in her throat.

" _ She passed away last night."  _

There it is. Five words that send Patsy's heart racing, her head suddenly pounding as she tries to process it.

"She- goodness, no," 

" _ I'm so sorry, _ " is all that Val can muster.

Patsy takes a shuddering breath, her mind flitting painfully between thoughts. 

"Is Trixie there? May I- may I speak to her?"

There's a pause and a deep breath at the other end.

_ "Trixie's away, chick. She's in Italy, for convalescense,"  _

"Oh." is Patsy's quiet reply. Her eyes sting, the sharp pain of grief hitting them in waves, "Is she ill as well?" 

" _ No. She just needs time to work on some things, I'm sure you know,"  _

_ " _ Yes, of course," Patsy sighs. She needs Trixie and, if their history is any indication, it's certain Trixie needs her. "I'll let you go, Valerie. I know Sister Julienne despises the telephone being occupied more than needs be," 

" _ Keep in touch, chick. I think we all need each other,"  _

Patsy bites her lip, holding back a hundred mean spirited replies that she knows she doesn't mean.

"Absolutely. Goodbye, Valerie," 

Click.

Patsy steadies herself against the wall, the world suddenly hurtling at a million miles an hour. Barbara. Gone.

She thinks about mere months ago, Barbara's wedding, the happiest Patsy had ever seen her, even if it was fleeting before her departure. Even just short months before that, they were a trio, inseperable, fitting as each others missing pieces exactly perfectly. They completed each other, on a level even Delia sometimes couldn't for Patsy. Even with Tom in the picture, Patsy never fretted that she and Trixie would be pushed away. Her Babs was always there of an evening, for a game night or a glass of wine (maybe tea if Trixie was joining them), to put the world to rights.

Trixie. Oh, Trixie. Alone in Italy, with only her thoughts for company. Perhaps she knows, perhaps she doesn't. Val never said. Only said she was recovering, a statement of so few words yet so much weight. Patsy found so much comfort in Trixie, as both a colleague and a friend. A best friend. Two peas in a pod, ever throwing light hearted comments each others way, their sides of the closet not so segregated in the end.

Now it is gone. Barbara is gone. Trixie will return to Poplar with too much on her mind to fret about Patsy. They are gone. They exist as individuals, no longer their collective. The realisation hits Patsy deep in the centre of her chest, takes the air from her lungs. 

She's made her bed, now she must lie in it. 


	3. keep her safe (barbara and tom)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on the events of 7x7, tom faces some hard truths at barbara's bedside.

"Tom,"  
  
Barbara's voice is laboured as she speaks, looking up at him, though the ache only worsens.  
  
"Yes, my love?" He takes her hand, soft, gentle.  
  
"Our," she trails off, fatigued and struck with pain.  
  
Tom listens, waiting intently. His eyes drift to the hand resting gently over Barbara's abdomen, nodding softly.  
  
"I know, Barbara," he says, barely audibly, "it's all going to be okay, you know that, don't you?"  
  
Whoever he's trying to convince, it isn't working. Barbara shakes her head, though it's a subtle movement, as much as she can manage.  
  
"I think you might be wrong," she mutters, "for once,"  
  
"No, listen," he takes her cool hand in both of his own, looking down into watery blue eyes, "you're going to be alright,"  
  
Barbara's eyes drop closed, heavy and fatigued, before she forces them open with whatever she has left.  
  
"So is our little one, you hear me?" Tom gives her hand a tiny squeeze, violently aware of her pain, "We're going to have our little boy"  
  
Barbara takes a deep breath, as deep as weak muscles allow.  
  
"Girl," Barbara murmurs, bring a smile to Tom's lips.  
  
"A girl? Alright, yes, perfect," he says, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, avoiding tears, for his wife's sake alone.  
  
Barbara musters the slightest fraction of a smile, the most she's managed in what feels like days.  
  
"She has to," Barbara's sentence is fractured, yet audible, "be named after Trixie somewhere,"  
  
Tom sighs, the bitter irony hitting him all at once.  
  
"I promised," she continues, weakly, "we- we both did,"  
  
"Can't break a promise, can you Barbara?" He smiles down at her again, planting a kiss to cold knuckles, "You're going to be wonderful with her. She'll love you almost as much as I do,"  
  
He feels a slight squeeze around his own hand, which shakes with the circumstance.  
  
"You'd be brilliant, Tom," she murmurs, "I just- wish you could- meet her,"  
  
"I will, Barbara," he says, "we will,"  
  
Another shuddering breath.  
  
"There's a little girl who can't wait to have the kindest, most beautiful mother in existence," he says, running his fingers lightly through lifeless brown hair as it fans across the pillow, free of laquer.  
  
"Mm," comes the reply, exhausted and quiet.  
  
It's as Barbara's hand softens, dropping itself from his grasp, that he realises she may meet their daughter after all. Her and her alone.  
  
"You look after her, now, my love," he plants a kiss to her forehead, "keep her safe for me,"


End file.
